


How to Destroy Your Enemy (By Making Them Your Friend)

by closedcaptioning



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Injury, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-11-13 01:36:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closedcaptioning/pseuds/closedcaptioning
Summary: So Shizuo may or may not have hit Izaya with his car, and Izaya may or may not be bleeding to death in the backseat right now in the way to the hospital, but this doesn't change anything. Not at all.





	1. Chapter 1

Shizuo Heiwajima has no problem with blood, usually. But then again, usually the blood is not threatening to be spilled all over the leather seats of his car.

“Jesus _Christ._ ” Shizuo chomps down on the end of the lit cigarette in his mouth, and slams down on the gas, the car juddering across the red light and narrowly avoiding what could have been a very messy collision. “Can’t you tilt your head back or something?”

A laugh echoes from the backseat. “I _am_ tilting my head back, but you keep _jerking_ the wheel --”

Shizuo curses. “ _Fuck._ Okay, just -- I don’t know, pinch the bridge --”

“Shizu-chaaan --” the slow drawl from the backseat is cut off by a sharp gasp of pain, followed by a low laugh. “I think you broke one of my ribs. Congratulations. You have excellent aim.”

Shizuo squeezes the steering wheel hard enough to leave finger-sized indents. “Shut _up,_ ” he bites back viciously. “You were the one who jumped in from of my goddamn _car_ \--”

A low rattling cough comes from Izaya, splayed across the backseat with his hand over his nose. “If you knew the situation, I think you would agree that bodily injury was preferable to what the men chasing me would have done if they had caught up.” The cough shakes his body again, and Shizuo glances in the rearview mirror long enough to see Izaya lower his arm from his mouth, the sleeve of his coat slick with blood. “Ah. Internal bleeding, my old friend.”

Shizuo presses down harder on the gas. “Stop. _Talking._ We’re almost at the hospital.”

“Look, Shizu --” Izaya breaks off with a wince as Shizuo takes a sharp turn, slamming him against the door. “You get to see me die. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

Shizuo is saved from having to answer by the bright HOSPITAL sign that emerges from the hazy streetlamp darkness. “We’re here. Get out.”

Izaya laughs, a real laugh, one that usually chills Shizuo to the bone but this time only irritates him. “How do you propose I do that? I’m finding it a bit difficult, in this state.”

Shizuo hesitates a moment. _What did I do to deserve this?_ he silently asks a god he doesn’t believe in, and before he can second-guess himself, he slides out of his seat, yanks the passenger door open and slips one arm under Izaya’s knee and the other beneath his head.

Izaya gapes at him for a moment, speechless, and then begins to laugh, a laugh that dissolves into a coughing fit quickly. “Shizu-chan --”

“Don’t speak. If you know what’s good for you, shut your mouth.” warns Shizuo, and maybe it’s the blood loss or the blonde’s dangerous tone, but Izaya goes quiet as Shizuo carries him up the hospital’s front steps in his arms.

It isn’t until he’s standing in the waiting room that Shizuo realizes just how bad this looks. Izaya’s nose is swollen and purple -- it’s probably broken -- and there are cuts and scratches all over his face and hands. His jacket is covered in blood, and Shizuo is now too. No wonder the receptionist is staring.

“This man needs help.” Shizuo snarls at her. “I thought this was a hospital, not a movie theater. Can’t you call a doctor or something?”

“R-Right away, sir. Sorry.” She snatches up a phone on her desk and speaks rapid-fire into it. “They’ll be here in a few minutes with a stretcher to bring him to his room --”

A muscle in Shizuo’s jaw tics. “A _few minutes??_ I did not drive over here at the fucking _speed of light_ to wait a _few minutes_ for him to get looked at by a _quack!!_ ” He’s yelling, spittle flying from his mouth, and the other patients in the waiting room are staring. Shizuo couldn’t care less. “This man was just _hit_ by a _car_. Is this how you treat all patients who need immediate care??”

The receptionist is shrinking back into her chair. “Sir --”

“ _Forget it,_ ” Shizuo hisses. “Tell me where the room is. I’ll bring him there myself.”

“Th-Th-Three B.” With a shaking hand, she points, and Shizuo takes off down the hall.

He’s almost forgotten Izaya is in his arms -- he’s unexpectedly light -- until he speaks up. “What’s got you so _angry,_ Shizu-chan?” Izaya purrs. “I’m offended. I thought only I could provoke you that much.”

“I told you to _shut up_.” Shizuo dumps Izaya on the hospital bed, perhaps less gently than he could have. “She was idiotic. You’re obviously hurt.”

Izaya hisses in pain as Shizuo begins stripping off his jacket. “Ah -- what are you doing?”

“Seeing how badly you’re hurt.” Shizuo yanks at the zipper viciously, succeeding only in snapping it off. “ _Fuck._ Why is this --”

“My, you’re so eager to undress me.” Izaya tries to smirk, but it turns into a wince, and his hand flies up to his nose. “I believe my nose may be broken.”

“No _shit._ ” Fed up with the zipper schematics, Shizuo rips the jacket off. “You’re -- Oh. Oh. Izaya--”

But Izaya’s already seen. “Fuck,” he says quietly, because there’s a huge bloodstain spreading across his shirt, and a large, bloody gash right above his hip. “No wonder it hurt so much.”

“Is this the patient?” A doctor strides in, lab coat flapping, nervously pawing at his comb-over, and stops dead when he sees Shizuo. “Sir, I’m going to need to ask you to leave.”

Shizuo is seconds away from launching himself at the man, but he is distracted by a soft touch on his hand. His head snaps around to glare at Izaya, but the angry words die on his lips, because Izaya looks so… vulnerable, splayed out on the bed. Weak. Desperate.

“Shizuo. Just leave, okay?” Izaya’s eyes are half-lidded, and Shizuo feels a little chill. For Izaya to be so apathetic, he must really be in pain. Clenching his fist and gritting his teeth, Shizuo nods once -- just enough for Izaya to see -- and sweeps past the doctor. “This place better have good coffee,” he mutters under his breath.

 

…

 

After an hour of wandering the hospital’s labyrinth-like halls, clutching the styrofoam cup of terrible coffee that one of the nurses gave him, Shizuo finds his mind churning in circles. Why did he drive that asshole to the hospital? Why did he bother? 

_You get to see me die. Isn’t that what you always wanted?_ Izaya’s words play on a loop in Shizuo’s head. _Isn’t_ that what he’s always wanted? For Izaya to leave him alone? _No… not like this._ If Izaya died, he would be cheating Shizuo out of something. Out of victory. That was it. Shizuo clenched the styrofoam cup so hard it cracked a little. Yes. If Izaya died, it would be unfair. Unfair of him to take that away from Shizuo, that final winning blow. Plus, the fighting always kept him on his toes. Izaya was a good enemy to have around. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

Shizuo isn’t paying attention to where he’s going, and somehow, when he looks up, he finds that his feet have led him back to room 3-B. One quick glance inside tells him that the doctor has finally left, so hospital rules be damned -- Shizuo slips inside, being sure to close the door behind him.

When he turns to face the bed, Shizuo feels his mouth go dry for a moment. Izaya is tiny amidst the vast whiteness of the hospital sheets, hooked up to a million monitors and beeping machines. The sight of him so fragile, so breakable, makes something raw and painful blossom inside of Shizuo. He’s in a fighting stance, suddenly, fists clenched, like he can pummel whatever it is making him feel this way.

Izaya’s eyelashes flutter. “Shizu…” He opens his eyes all the way and catches sight of Shizuo standing in front of him, tensed and ready for a fight, and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Are you going to put me out of my misery, Shizu-chan?”

Shizuo forces himself to relax. “No. Not yet.” He has to fight a smile when Izaya laughs, but the urge to grin at his own stupid joke disappears when the laugh is cut off by a rattling cough.

“Maybe you won’t have to. I overheard the nurses -- I might not get better.” Izaya offers this like a joke, tossed carelessly through the air, but Shizuo can read the truth in his face. 

Izaya is _scared._

“You’re shivering.” He is. Shizuo feels a surge of anger when he scans the room and finds no other blankets -- how _fucking_ incompetent can this hospital’s staff be --

“Then warm me up.” Izaya smiles an evil smile, his challenge lingering in the air. Shizuo can feel his cheeks warming, even as he knows this is an attempt to gain back some of the strength Izaya’s lost -- lost by being _weak,_ in his own eyes. 

But sick or not, Shizuo has never backed down from Izaya’s challenges.

Izaya makes a small noise in the back of his throat as Shizuo lifts the corner of the bedsheets. “Move over.”

“Shizuo --” Izaya bites down on his lip in pain when Shizuo bumps against his side. “Be careful.”

“Is that how you ended up here? By _being careful_?” Shizuo ignores Izaya’s small gasps of pain as he kicks off his shoes and slides into the bed next to him. “Go back to sleep. You must be on a helluva lot of drugs right now to even be sentient.”

When Izaya doesn’t say anything, at first Shizuo thinks he’s fallen asleep. But then Izaya moans a little and stretches, curling into Shizuo. “You’re warm,” he whispers, and Shizuo hardly dares to breathe, until Izaya’s breathing becomes steady and regular.

 

…

 

Shizuo must’ve fallen asleep, because when he opens his eyes, he finds that light is streaming in through the window. Someone’s drawn back the curtains -- _though they didn’t bother to wake me up, Shizuo thinks_ \-- and only then does it slowly come back to him.

The car accident. The hospital. Izaya.

And--

Shizuo stirs a little, and realizes that his arm is half asleep. And that he’s spooning the figure next to him in bed. 

_Izaya._

“Wha--!” Shizuo jerks back, almost falling out of bed, and Izaya groans. 

“What time is it?”

“Uh?” Shizuo has never been so confused in his life. He woke up, _spooning_ Izaya, and… somehow, Izaya himself is not concerned.

“It’s too early.” Izaya groans. “You’re warm. Don’t squirm so much.” He cracks an eye open, baleful. “Did you know you talk in your sleep?” Without waiting for an answer, Izaya rolls over and buries his face in Shizuo’s chest, and

_oh_

Shizuo is hyperaware of his heartbeat, suddenly, and the slow, even rise and fall of Izaya’s chest. _He’s high,_ he reminds himself. _Pain medication._

So really, it doesn’t mean anything. _He probably won’t even remember this,_ thinks Shizuo as he wraps his arms around Izaya’s thin body and drifts back to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When he next awakens, Shizuo is aware, first, of the absence. The blanket has been pulled back, leaving him shivering in the sudden chill of the hospital room. Shizuo blinks himself more awake, rolls over to find out why he’s suddenly so cold, and is confronted with three facts.

 

One: Izaya is gone. Nothing but a bloodstain seeping into the white sheets, an unhooked IV machine, and the lingering, strangely sweet smell that seems to follow Izaya everywhere. Shizuo associates it with late nights in alleys, the sting of his knuckles, Izaya’s twisted smile.

 

Two: The window is open. Wide open. Shizuo is instantly awake, clutching the bedsheets and gnashing his teeth.  _ That idiot.  _ He’s going to die in the streets of Ikebukuro from his injuries, if that gang or whoever was after him doesn’t catch him first. Swinging his legs out of bed, Shizuo is determined to take off after him -- only to make his third and crucial discovery: Izaya has stolen his shoes.

 

Spitting curses, Shizuo stalks through the halls of the hospital barefoot. His murderous expression cautions the doctors and orderlies against making eye contact -- lucky for them, Shizuo thinks dangerously. In this mood, he might toss someone through a solid wall of concrete, just to blow off steam. How  _ dare _ Izaya? How dare he leave? How dare he put himself in more danger? How dare he pretend to be vulnerable, expose his soft belly only to bare his fangs when Shizuo dropped his guard?

 

It doesn’t matter, Shizuo tells himself. It never did. None of it does. Izaya was high out of his mind when he’d pressed against Shizuo’s chest, when he’d smiled and murmured  _ “Warm me up,” _ and it was nothing. Another stupid thing in a long list of stupid things, stupid moments between them, moments of violence and tenderness, sometimes interchangeable.

 

Shizuo’s car is right where he left it. He slides into the driver’s seat and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. Izaya’s velvet voice, his slow smile, his grimace of pain, the flash of fear in his eyes -- all these are new and yet not new. Izaya is always playing a game, Shizuo has found, and normally he wouldn’t care but this time he thinks he might be well and truly ensnared.

 

With a shaky sigh, Shizuo starts the engine. He needs a shower, a fresh set of clothes, and a real cup of coffee before he can begin to understand what exactly happened last night, and he doesn’t have the luxury of time if he wants to find Izaya before he dies of blood loss. The thought makes him so angry that Shizuo stamps down a little too hard on the gas pedal and the car jerks forward. 

 

There is a shout of pain from the backseat, quickly muffled. Shizuo hits the brakes so hard that his car squeals in protest. “IZAYA!” he roars, throws the driver door open with barely-restrained force that makes the hinges groan in protest, and stomps around to the side of the car.

 

Izaya’s pale face peeps through the passenger side window. “Why, hello, Shizu-chan. Fancy meeting you here.”

 

Shizuo is speechless with rage. He yanks the passenger door open and fumbles for words to express the enormity of his anger. Izaya is smiling. No, he’s  _ smirking _ . “Cat got your tongue?”

 

Shizuo wants to smack that grin off his face. He wants to grab Izaya, beat him to a bloody pulp, and demand an explanation for everything he’s put Shizuo through -- but his gaze lands on the way Izaya is cradling his arm, the way he’s hunched over, a hand pressed to the side where his wound was, and his rage is dimmed. “Why the hell did you leave the hospital?”

 

Surprise flickers over Izaya’s face -- only a moment, but Shizuo sees it, knows Izaya was expecting, no,  _ anticipating _ his rage. Izaya quickly smooths over his confusion with an ingratiating smile. “Did you want me to stay? Were you…” his eyes flick over Shizuo’s body, and Shizuo hates that, hates how naked Izaya’s gaze makes him feel “... enjoying it?” 

 

Shizuo can feel the sparks of rage clashing to life in his chest, knows his strength is there for him, within arm’s reach. It would be easy to tear this car apart, and he can feel the urge to do so tingling in his fingertips. But something stops him. It’s the subtle air of unease lingering over Izaya, the almost frantic way he is baiting Shizuo -- pushing all his buttons, a little too quickly. 

 

Izaya is daring him with that viper look, but Shizuo’s rage has simmered down, and a miniature seed of curiosity has begun to blossom within him. So instead of breaking something, Shizuo forces himself to take a deep breath and channel his inner Izaya.

 

“Izaya.” Shizuo sighs a little and runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly, sometimes I don’t understand what game you’re playing.” With a single motion, he is inside the car, pinning Izaya to the door. One hand is at Izaya’s side, the other is bracing him against the seat.

 

Their faces are close enough that Shizuo can hear Izaya’s sharp intake of breath, see the minute widening of his eyes. If this is what it’s like to be a trickster, Shizuo thinks, then no wonder this is Izaya’s favorite role. Shizuo can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins the way it does before a fight, and someone’s heartbeat is ringing in his ears. Maybe it’s Izaya’s. Maybe it’s his own. 

 

“But tell me the truth,” Shizuo says quietly. “You’re scared right now, aren’t you?”

 

Izaya is frozen, lips parted in shock. Shizuo can feel a smile tugging at his own lips. He’s never seen Izaya embarrassed before, and somehow, he looks even more vulnerable than he did in the hospital, hooked up to silent machines and pale as death. Shizuo most certainly likes this version better, this Izaya right in front of him with sharp features and too-bright eyes, this Izaya who is almost certainly losing this game, whatever it is -- 

 

and then -- 

 

Izaya’s mouth is against his, hot and rough as sandpaper, and his tongue is in Shizuo’s mouth and he is kissing him, violent and exacting, precise and savage.  _ Just like he fights, _ thinks Shizuo half-consciously, because he is sliding his hands down Izaya’s chest down to his waist, kissing him back just as harshly, because he’ll be damned if he’s losing now --

 

And Izaya jerks away with a grunt of pain. “Shizuo --  _ fuck _ , my side --”

 

And Shizuo is back. He is in his car, almost lying on top of Izaya, his lips stinging -- Izaya may or may not have been using his teeth -- and there is blood on his hands. And on the car seat. And all over Izaya. And they are in a hospital parking lot, and yesterday Shizuo hit Izaya with this same car and then carried him up the steps to the hospital as he bled out. And he’s going to bleed to death right here, in the back of Shizuo’s car, and then his death really  _ will _ be Shizuo’s fault. 

 

“Come on.” Shizuo hoists Izaya up, trying not to wince at Izaya’s muffled cry of pain. “We’re going back to the hospital so you don’t die.” Izaya must be in a lot of pain, because he doesn’t argue or even struggle that much as Shizuo gently lifts him -- far more gently than any other way he’s ever touched Izaya in his life, except for maybe last night -- and heads towards the hospital doors again.

 

They are back in the room 3-B before the nurse probably even noticed they were gone, which is fine by Shizuo. He presses a pad of gauze that he finds in one of the cabinets against Izaya’s side, and orders him not to move as he tapes it in place.

 

Izaya is struggling to remain conscious, Shizuo can tell -- he can see it in the uneven focus of his eyes, the gasped breaths. “Don’t,” he tells him. “Sleep. You need it. I’ll make sure the doctor doesn’t disturb you.”

 

“Shizuo,” Izaya says quietly, “I need to tell you something.”

 

Shizuo is irked. “ _ What? _ ’ he snaps.

 

Izaya hisses out a laugh. “I win,” he says weakly. “You kissed me back.” His eyelids slip shut and he leaves Shizuo standing over his bed, mouth half open. With his eyes closed, Izaya reaches out and finds Shizuo’s hand, curled into a fist in shock and anger. “Stay here,” he murmurs, exhaustion heavy on his tongue. “And we can have a rematch when I wake up. ‘Kay?”

 

And maybe it’s the fragility of Izaya in his sleep, or the cool curl of his fingers against Shizuo’s wrist, but for whatever reason, Shizuo eases himself onto the bed and maybe a grin curls the sides of his mouth up, maybe he slides beneath the sheets and unfolds against Izaya’s warmth; maybe the two of them lie like that for a long, long time. It doesn’t really matter, thinks Shizuo. Tomorrow, things will be different. They always are.


End file.
